Purpose
by Shadow Phantom
Summary: An angsty little thing. Trowa reflects upon life.


Disclaimer: I do not own GW…though I plan to in the future…

Rated PG-13 for: Depressingness

AN: I wrote this for a friend who was feeling depressed, and I really like it. Though that might just be a bias.

Purpose

Trowa folded his legs underneath him and rested his chin on his hands, looking in the waves. Breathing in the salty air, he dropped a penny down from the cliff watching it fall, ten, twenty, thirty, forty…fifty feet before it hit the water and sank. Shifting positions, he lay down on his stomach letting his arms dangle, wondering what would happen if the rock fell, like in old cartoons. Certainly would be an improvement from what it was like now. Then nobody would be bothered with him anymore. Sure, it wouldn't be the most heroic way to go, but then at least he wouldn't have to deal with it anymore.

There was a little something nagging him at the back of his mind though. Something Quatre had said a long time ago. Or maybe it was Duo. His memories ran together, an after effect of the war, possibly. "Suicide…that's just how the cowards deal with it. Nothing is ever worth the sacrificing of your own life. No matter how bad things seem, they're never that bad."

"Yeah, well you never had anything bad happen to you." Trowa choked back the words, wanting to yell them bitterly, knowing they weren't true. The emotionless soldier who could never share feelings. Who didn't appear to have feelings. A good judgement, as it seemed to be true. Had he ever truly cried? Just let out his feelings? 

No. He remembered his amnesia periods, ironically enough; even then he had been fairly emotionless. Sure, he had been easier to smile, to scare, but really, nothing spectacular. Heero showed more emotion then he did. 

"Is there a purpose in life!?" He yelled suddenly, feeling giddy and high on emotion, a welcome new experience, even if the feeling was doubt and depression. He listened to voice echo down the cliff, and fade into the crashing of the waves. Standing up, he stood on the edge of the cliff, pretending it was the tightrope, of course, this was a bit more perilous. "Why am I here? What do I do?! Does anybody actually care if I live or not!?" He told himself no. He hadn't talked to any of the others in years, even the friendly Quatre, his best friend, had failed to contact him for a good year. Catherine might cry a bit, but she would get over it. He knew she was getting tired of having him around. He didn't do anything anyway. Yeah, he was good with a few big cats, but that was really all.

He stood there, teetering on the edge, wondering if he had the guts to do it. To take his own life. He watched as the sun sank spectacularly, as it always did. "Much better then the circus." He commented to himself. Watching the sun sink into the horizon, he sighed and hopped on his motorcycle heading back to the circus.

"Where does Catherine keep the medication?" Trowa muttered, searching through the cabinets. He knew that she had a container when they were training hard, to help her get to sleep. He finally stumbled upon the orange container, uncapping it; he didn't even bother to look at the directions. "I wonder if fifteen is enough." He muttered, emptying the whole thing into his mouth and swallowing it.

Sitting on the floor, he reminisced about his life, struggling to remember everything before it got to foggy to think anymore. About the mercenaries, when he was nameless, how he suddenly had an identity after the real Trowa died, when he met Quatre, when he met Cathy, when he met the other pilots, nothing. Insignificant. Everything. "Because nothing really matters up there, or down there, does it?" He whispered, dropping out of consciousness. To go to sleep, forever. 

The phone rang, twice, three times. After the fourth ring the answering machine picked up, Catherine's cheerful voice ringing out. "Hello, I'm not here right now, but leave a message and I'll force my brother to call you." 

The beep sounded before the speaker started talking. "Hello, Trowa? This is Quatre. Sorry I haven't called you in such a long time, I've been so busy…"

The End

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Review please. Thanks.


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